First Day of Spring
by Tolkanonms
Summary: Spring is here, but all is not bright in the Greenwood, now called Mirkwood. Legolas, his brother and Thranduil share their loss.


**First Day of Spring**

**Author**:Tolkanonms

**Disclaimer**: The characters and context belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, and no disrespect to him or his heirs or executors is intended by their use. This is a work of fiction; no profit beyond the pleasure of giving a gift is being made.

**Rating**: G

**Archiving**: Edhellond. Anywhere else, please ask first, so I'll know where to send corrections.

**Dedication**: This story began as a gift for Soledad, inspired as it was by accounts I read of some St. Georges Day (23 April) and other spring traditions of Transylvania and Romania. I hope you may encounter some familiar echoes, my dear friend!

Events since I began jotting a first draft have made clear that this tale is also very much a story for JastaElf. May it help you find the release you seek, Liebling. Remember: Spring will come again after Winter has had her due.

And many thanks to Lady Masterblott for a fabulous beta!

**Summary**: Another in my series of occasional seasonal celebration stories. Spring is here, but all is not bright in the Greenwood, now called Mirkwood.

- - - - - -

All of Mirkwood was in motion this morning.

Or so it seemed to the young Elfling, who had barely slept, so excited was he about the coming feast day. The hunting parties had returned after dark five nights before, their burdens quickly seized upon by the cooks. Likewise, the baskets of tender greens and sprouting shoots gathered at sunrise that very morning had been practically snatched from the wildcrafters' hands 'ere the dew could evaporate from the leaves.

In the dawn's pale glow, fine rugs, hand-carved tables and benches, earthenware dishes, sparkling cutlery and all manner of finery had poured forth into the large clearing in a barely-ordered cascade of colors and textures that had finally resolved itself into an open-air festival hall. There were sounds and smells and oh so very many things begging to be touched, sniffed, tasted -- or at least poked.

He squirmed again.

"Hold still, _pen-neth_, or you will find yourself with a branch growing out of your ear and everyone will mistake you for an Ent!"

He did his best to make a very stern face and tried to say, "Hroom!" but quickly dissolved into giggles.

His brother sighed and picked up the sprigs, attempting once again to affix them to the wriggling Elfling's tunic and boots. She had been much better at this, he thought to himself. She always had such patience with the little one.

The Elfling caught his brother's change of mood. His giggles died away as he leaned his head against the older Elf's chest.

"I miss her."

"I know, _pen-neth_. We all miss her."

And for a moment, the brothers sat quietly, heads bowed one over the other, a point of stillness in the swirl of festival preparations.

It was the younger brother who called them both back to the task at hand.

"She always tied the branches on first. Then she put the leaves on. Then she put the flowers on top." He patted his own head to show the proper placement.

His elder brother smiled down at him.

"So she did. I knew I was forgetting something."

They busied themselves with twine and leaves and twigs, fashioning leafy "branches" small enough to be worn by a still-small Elfling.

"How will she know that Spring is here when she is not here for the Festival? Nana always liked the Spring Festival, didn't she? She will be sad she missed it."

His brother winced almost invisibly and paused in his work before replying, "The Ancient Ones will send word."

"How?"

"You will see."

"When?"

"Tonight. But only if we have you ready in time!"

The older Elf looked away, his throat tightening as he recalled the visit the previous night from one of those who had awakened at Cuiviénen.

- - - - - -

The Elfling had been taken to bed some hours earlier, leaving him alone with their father. Late in the evening, one of his father's finest archers arrived. She bowed deeply, then spoke.

"Will you send word, _nîn brannon_?"

There was a long pause. He was startled to see his father brushing away a tear. The Ancient One waited in utter stillness.

Finally, slowly, the King reached into his pocket and drew out a small box. Handing it not to the Elven woman before him, but to his son, he said simply, "Open it."

The younger Elf did as he was bidden. Nestled in a mound of white spider-silk, there lay a single songbird's egg that had been colored a rich burgundy red.

Now it was his turn to blink back tears. Reverently, he lifted the egg from its nest and carefully handed it to the waiting archer. She cradled it in her hands and with a wordless bow, left them to their grief.

- - - - - -

A poke in the ribs brought his thoughts back out into the daylight.

"Hurry or we will be late for the feast!"

He smiled and kissed the blond head lightly before placing the crown of flowers on it.

"There you are! All is done!"

Released at long last, the Elfling squirmed out of his brother's reach, then dashed back and tugged at his hand, pointing to the cluster of Elves across the clearing.

"Hurry! Ada will be waiting for us!"

The older brother allowed himself to be pulled along by the little one's eagerness. As they approached, the King smiled broadly and reached out a hand to each of them.

"Brethilas! Legolas! My sons! Here you are at last! Come, let me see your costume, _tithen emlin_!"

The little one frowned and stood his very Elfling tallest. "I am not Legolas now, Ada -- I am the Greenwood!"

Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, exchanged a knowing glance with his older son, who was doing a credible job of suppressing a snicker, and nodded soberly.

"Indeed you are, Master Greenwood. If you are ready, we shall begin."

He raised a hand, and as the horn was sounded, all the Elves of Mirkwood joined together in the clearing to celebrate the arrival of Spring.

After Thranduil had recited the poem of welcome, Master Greenwood stepped into the circle carrying a small pail of fresh springwater to the flower-bedecked tree that stood in the middle of the clearing. As he poured the water around its base, all the Elves assembled raised their voices in an ancient song of love and loyalty renewed, binding themselves once more to the woods that long had been their home.

When they were done, Master Greenwood bowed solemnly to the King, then ran back out of the circle and into the woods. And at this signal, the musicians struck up a dance tune, the servants took their places and the merrymaking began.

Brethilas slipped away into the shadows amid the trees. As he approached the hiding place he and Legolas had agreed upon, he gave a slight nod to release the hidden warriors from their watch, then called to his brother. The Elfling immediately jumped out of the crevice and began tugging at his costume.

"Hurry or there will be no food left for us!"

Brethilas grinned and began trying to cut the twine bindings with his knife without harming his brother -- no mean feat, given how much the Elfling wriggled and twisted.

"Hold still or I shall slice your ears off by mistake, and everyone will think you are a Cave Troll!"

Legolas slowed his struggle slightly and looked up at his brother, uncertain as to whether this was another jest. Brethilas kept his face straight and continued in his most somber voice.

"And as everyone knows, Cave Trolls are most definitely not allowed to take part in the Spring Festival feasting."

Legolas froze instantly and without uttering so much as a peep, he allowed his brother to quickly finish cutting away the greenery. But the moment he was liberated from his costume, he burst out once more.

"We have to go NOW or we will miss the pies!"

Laughing, Brethilas ruffled his brother's hair. Then, hand and in hand, they ran back toward the clearing to join their people in celebrating Spring's return to their home.

- - - - - -

The feasting, dancing and drinking lasted through the night. As dawn approached, the musicians laid aside their instruments, and all the Elves began to gather at the center of the clearing once more, forming a line with Thranduil in the lead.

Legolas, who had long since tumbled off into sleep curled up in his father's huge chair, awakened to a gentle shaking of his shoulder. Brethilas bent over him.

"_Pen-neth_? Time to wake up."

He sat up a bit and rubbed his eyes. How odd: he was still in the woods. This was a new thing. In years past, he had always found himself somehow transported to his own bed by dawn.

But before he could form a question from his sleep-fogged thoughts, his brother lifted him up and carried him to their father's side, whispering, "It's time to send word to Nana, Legolas."

The procession of Elves soon reached the banks of the river, where they spread out along the shoreline in complete silence. At a wordless signal from Thranduil, the eldest of the female Elves strode up to face him. Brethilas recognized her as the archer who had visited his father the night before. But rather than her usual bow and quiver, she carried a large, shallow basket woven tightly of rushes and filled with eggs of many different birds, each colored the same deep red as the egg his father had given to her.

Bowing silently to her king, she stepped slowly into the water, singing words in a tongue of the Greenwood so old that Brethilas could only follow half of the words. Legolas went utterly still in his arms, staring at the spectacle before him with his eyes widened, now fully awake. He understood nothing of what was being said, but he knew something important was happening.

When the Ancient One finished her song, every Elf who had lost a loved one -- and who among the Mirkwood Elves had not? -- raised hand to heart, watching in silence as she set the basket adrift in the water's current.

And as the basket disappeared into the dawn's mist on the river, a sigh went up from the gathered Elves. Slowly, they turned to make their way back to their homes, hugging one another, draping arms over shoulders or around waists to pull dear ones close.

His formal responsibilities completed, Thranduil turned to look at what remained of his own family. Drawing them both into his embrace, he said nothing, but squeezed his eyes shut against the tears and sent a silent message down the river to his wife.

"Luthiél, our sons are well and strong. Legolas sleeps through the night again now, and Brethilas has begun to laugh once more. He is a fine brother to our little one, Luthiél. He has your patience. And the little one, he has your spark. I see you in the both of them each day, and my heart breaks anew with joy and grief. But we are healing. Spring is here, _guren nîn_."

He had not realized he had spoken this last aloud until Legolas murmured from somewhere down in the sleepy warmth of his father's and brother's joint embrace:

"Spring is here, Nana. Spring is here."

(_finis_)

**Translations  
**(thanks to JastaElf for sharing her knowledge and her vision of Mirkwood)

**Ada:** Daddy in Sindarin, the diminutive form of "Adar," which means "father"  
**guren nîn:** my heart, used as a term of endearment  
**Nana:** Mama in Sindarin, the diminutive of "Naneth," which means "mother"  
**nîn brannon:** my king  
**pen-neth:** young one  
**tithen emlin:** little yellow bird - a pet nameThranduil has for Legolas


End file.
